


Unforgotten

by exmachinarium



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Book: Night Watch, Gen, Lots of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inside of the carriage is like a moving piece of nothingness cut out from the world filled with nervous, excited uproar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was pestering me ever since I've finished Night Watch, so I had no other choice than to write it down. Happens shortly after John Keel’s ‘official’ death.

The inside of the carriage is like a moving piece of nothingness cut out from the world filled with nervous, excited uproar. The unspoken agreement renders its passengers silent and unmoving like intricate statues of themselves – one would have to focus to near-impossible lengths to get even a sliver of chance at noticing either of them breathe.

“Whatever happens in this carriage, stays in this carriage.” Lady Meserole says finally, her voice level and strangely sombre.

Initially there’s no reaction from her fellow traveller. Then, suddenly, he slams his fisted hand against the side of the carriage and curses under his breath – not loud enough for anyone outside to hear, but in the mouth of Havelock Vetinari even a whispered curse could make cities crumble.

The electric buzz in the air simmers down into silence once again, but a silence no longer dead; it’s being filled with unspoken thoughts and calculations slowly forming into intricate strategies. Past failure is weighted, measured and accounted for. And, great loss as it might be, the death of one John Keel becomes now nothing more than another fragment of a complex equation.

“All the same,” Vetinari speaks up, continuing the conversation previously held solely in their minds, “I do believe he might have left us a worthy successor.”

“Lance-constable Vimes, is it? I doubt he had enough exposure to gain Keel’s full potential – or even a fracture of it.”

“In the short time between his arrival in Ankh-Morpork and his death, John Keel manage to create a well-organised and relatively peaceful autonomy within these very walls. I wouldn’t put it past him to successfully mould lance-constable Vimes in his own image during that time – quite skilfully, too.” Vetinari explains, not sure whether Madame isn't simply putting his calculating abilities to yet another test.

Lady Meserole smiles and strokes the head of the cat sleeping in her lap. “However…?”

(He shouldn't have stayed this long, in spite of being perfectly disguised from any possible onlookers. After he checked the pulse of the strangely transformed and equally strangely frigid body of sergeant John Keel, he should have rushed to report what’s happened as soon as possible. But the sense of failure numbed his limbs and forced him to linger long enough for the Vimes boy to come back to his senses. Perfectly still and perfectly invisible, Havelock observed the spectacle playing out in front of him. Vimes standing up and noticing he’s all alone; noticing the body and approaching it on shaky legs which gave out just before he reached his dead mentor; reaching a shaky hand to check for pulse in a grotesque parody of what Vetinari himself performed just a moment ago. All that punctuated by a maddening mantra of ‘Sarge…? Sarge…? Sarge…?’ turning more raspy and desperate with each passing second…)

“However, I'm afraid there’s a long way before lance-constable Vimes until he reaches his full potential.” Vetinari concludes, eyes fixed on a distant point in front of him.


End file.
